Ski Trip!
by pointedfeet
Summary: Just a cute little scenario I thought up where Ron and Hermione get to be alone. :) Very 'fluffy'. It's just one chapter, and I will not be adding to it, so please take the time to read and review!


'So I just – strap – these bloody – things – on my feet ... and go?'  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. It really wasn't that complicated.  
  
'Ron, you need to put your boots on, first,' she sighed. She had a bit of a headache and was finding it hard to cope with all of the noise in the chalet.  
  
'My boots are on!' Ron said indignantly, waving one of his feet in the air.  
  
Harry, who had just wobbled over, looking extremely confused indeed, let himself collapse onto the floor.  
  
'What am I supposed to do with these things?' he demanded, gesturing to the ski boots on his feet.  
  
Hermione groaned. She, of course, was the one who had taken skiing lessons, and had been expecting this. She therefore proceeded to properly fasten Harry and Ron's boots to their feet and, a half hour later, the three friends had joined Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Fred, George, and Bill at the bottom of the hills.  
  
'All set, then?' Mr. Weasley called out, a huge smile on his face, once Harry, Ron, and Hermione had joined the group, their skis in their hands.  
  
'Let's go!' Bill said. He stepped into his skis, grabbed his poles, helped his father into his, and off they went towards the nearest ski lift.  
  
'Meet us for lunch in the main lobby!' Mr. Weasley called out.  
  
'Nutcase,' Ron muttered, eyeing his skis with a mix of apprehension and disgust.  
  
Hermione couldn't help but agree with him, though silently. It was the middle of July, after all, and here they all were, with skis and poles, surrounded by Muggles happily going about their day. It had, of course, been Mr. Weasley's idea to bring the lot of them to the skiing resort. Bill had come home from a trip in the mountains and explained to his father to whole concept of things. A few days later, Ron was sending invitations off to Harry and Hermione to join him in a couple weeks' time. Mr. Weasley thought it was brilliant, but it was already apparent in his children's faces that they did not share his thought.  
  
'Oh, and remember! No magic!' Mr. Weasley shouted behind him.  
  
'Imagine – surrounded by Muggles without our wands,' Fred snorted.  
  
Indeed, Mr. Weasley had pocketed all of their wands, explaining to them that it was part of the fun.  
  
Hermione resigned herself to help out with the skis and, once everyone was all set, the group started to slide slowly towards the beginner area.  
  
'Hermione – wait!'  
  
Ron was sliding down the bunny hill for the millionth time, his skis in the pizza position, his face set. Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, though she was trying not to smile, and waited for him to catch up to her before sliding down the rest of the hill. She ignored the steady thumping in her head, and promised to get herself some painkillers during her lunch break.  
  
'We're going down a real one,' Hermione said.  
  
Ron's eyes widened.  
  
'But ... can we go on this one? Just one more time?' he asked.  
  
'Ron, everyone else is gone! We're never going to have any fun if we just stay here all day!'  
  
Ron was still looking longingly at the tiny hill as Hermione pulled him towards the ski lift. When he finally resigned himself to follow her, he found himself face to face with the giant moving chairs, and Hermione heard him gulp. She suppressed a giggle.  
  
'So – uh – how do we, you know, get on this thing?' Ron asked, obviously trying to sound off-hand.  
  
Hermione didn't have time to answer. She heard the little bell ring and slid down the ramp to the red line, Ron clutching her arm tightly. A second later, the chair had scooped both of them up, and Hermione was pulling down the bar.  
  
'See?' Hermione said, trying to give Ron a reassuring smile. 'Easy peasy.'  
  
Ron didn't seem to be in any state to talk. He one hand clamped on the bar, and the other grabbing Hermione's jacket. Hermione was holding both of their sets of poles.  
  
It was a few minutes before Hermione felt Ron's gloved hand loosen on her sleeve. He looked down bellow himself at all the skiers on the slope.  
  
'Wonder where the others are?' he asked.  
  
'We'll probably find them eventually,' Hermione said.  
  
The two had started talking animatedly about how to tell a Muggle from a witch or wizard ('Look at that bloke over there, with the Chuddley Cannons hat!') when they reached the sign that told them to raise the safety bar. Ron looked a bit uncomfortable, but pulled himself together as the two of them skied off their chair. Ron fell over, but picked himself back up quickly, and both he and Hermione laughed as they neared the slopes. 'Which one do you want to go down?' Hermione asked.  
  
'Er – that one?' Ron said, pointing at what looked like a relatively easy hill.  
  
'Alright, let's go!'  
  
Hermione lead the way to the start of the slope, and slid down a few meters before turning back to see Ron, who was sitting resolutely in his pizza position, going very, very slowly.  
  
'Oh, come on, Ron, go a bit faster, you'll find it a lot more fun,' Hermione said.  
  
Ron eyed her suspiciously, but had no choice but to follow as she speeded down the hill, never looking back, or at least until her hat fell off, setting her wild, curly brown hair flying into her face. She stopped and determinedly started trekking up the hill to rescue her hat. Ron stopped himself, again with his pizza position, and waited for Hermione to continue down the slope.  
  
'This really isn't all that bad!' he called out to her, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
'Well, of course it isn't!' Hermione said, finally reaching her hat.  
  
As she lifted her head back up, however, she felt all of the blood rush out of her head, and big black spots began to appear in her eyes. Her forehead felt hot. In an effort to steady herself, she toppled onto her side and started sliding down the hill at top speed. She had knocked her head onto the icy snow and was hardly aware of her surroundings.  
  
Ron, who was still sitting in his pizza position, watched this happen without really understanding.  
  
'Hermione?' he called out.  
  
Hermione continued to slide down the hill, head first.  
  
Ron looked behind him. No one was coming. Seizing all of his courage, he skied down after Hermione, never getting quite close enough to stop her fall. Again, he looked around himself, cursing the trees that blocked the hill from view under his breath.  
  
Hermione felt her body sliding down the icy slope. Her skis scraped the ground and finally snapped off. She could see nothing, but her sense of hearing was extremely acute, and she could hear Ron coming down after her. All of the feelings that she had worked so hard on getting rid of after so many years of pain and endurance came flooding back to her. She cursed herself for thinking it, but she thought it all the same. Ron was her prince, and he was going to save her.  
  
'Can you hear me?' came Ron's voice, not far behind Hermione.  
  
Hermione tried to answer, but her head was pounding so fiercely that all she could manage was a whispered, 'yes'.  
  
'Hermione?' Ron asked again. She could hear his skis scrape swiftly against the icy snow and, though she felt as though she might pass out at any minute, she marveled at how quickly he had learned.  
  
'He learned for me,' she thought. 'He wouldn't be going so quickly if I didn't need to be rescued.'  
  
Hermione's stomach felt like she had just drank very hot liquid. Despite her pain, she knew she was blushing. And, considering she was in a pretty dangerous situation, she let herself think of Ron the way she had forbidden herself to think of him in over three years, since the moment she had woken up after being petrified for two months, wishing he were with her in the Hospital wing to make her laugh.  
  
'STOP!' Ron's voice came echoing behind her and, a moment later, he had tumbled next to her and, with a loud CRACK, she realized that he must have broken something. The next minute, she felt her head hit something hard and passed out.  
  
'Absolutely ridiculous ... do her parents know?'  
  
'Her parents aren't here, Madam, I checked the sign-in sheet, and Miss Granger here is at the resort with another family ... She's booked at the Lodge for two nights.'  
  
Hermione's eyelids felt heavy as she tried to open them, only half-awake, her head causing her a lot of pain. She was freezing, but was covered in sweat.  
  
'Imagine – going skiing with such a heavy fever. Teenagers. Ridiculous.'  
  
'Yes –'  
  
'Miss Cooper, please call for the family –'  
  
'The Weasleys ... oh, and a certain Potter.'  
  
'Miss Cooper, please call for the Weasleys and for Mr. Potter.' Hermione heard footsteps and, a second later, the sound of a door being opened and the closed. Her head continued to cause her pain. She tried to raise herself onto her elbows, but her head felt too heavy and she felt dizzy.  
  
'Stay,' came Madam's sharp voice.  
  
'Whathapp...' Hermione tried to form a sentence, but only managed a small mumble.  
  
'What did you think you were doing, going skiing, of all things, with such a temperature?' Madam snapped.  
  
Hermione felt her cold hand on her forehead, heard a loud 'tsk' and felt a thermometer being shoved into her mouth.  
  
'Temp...?'  
  
'Keep your mouth shut. Honestly, you must have known you weren't well ... let's see ... oh, Lord.'  
  
Hermione felt Madam yank the thermometer out of her mouth, practically making her gag. The next thing she knew, a cloth filled with freezing water had been placed on her head, slightly soothing the pain in her forehead. She heard the door open and close again, and hushed whispers.  
  
'I made an –'  
  
'Hush, Miss Cooper. I need you to fill a bath with cold water. Look at this thermometer.'  
  
'I – oh, dear ... I'll go fill a tub right away.'  
  
For the third time, Hermione heard the door open and close. She tried to open her eyes. Such effort exhausted her, and she passed out once more.  
  
When Hermione woke up, she was sitting in a tub of freezing water, wearing a white nightshirt over her undergarments, sweating like a pig.  
  
'Oh, thank God, she's awaking. Madam, she's fine!'  
  
'Good, now be quiet. Miss Granger –'  
  
'Hermione –' someone's voice cut in, and Hermione realized with a start that it was Ginny.  
  
'Hermione, you should know that, had you been outside much longer, you could have died.'  
  
Ginny gave a small gasp, but said nothing.  
  
'Going around, skiing with a forty-degree temperature!'  
  
Madam shoved the thermometer once more into Hermione's mouth.  
  
'Thirty-eight ...' she read. 'Fine. But you are not to go skiing anymore. You'll be keeping Mr. Ron Weasley company, I'm afraid.'  
  
Hermione's stomach gave a lurch at the sound of Ron's name. She hoped he wasn't hurt too badly. She opened her eyes slowly, letting herself adjust to the light. She felt three sets of hands pull her out of the tub and was handed a towel and a pair of pajamas – her own. Ginny must have dug them out of her bag. Dizzily, she wrapped the towel around herself and, once everyone had left the room, got changed.  
  
Hermione and Ron sat together on the couch in Ron and Harry's room. Hermione had her head on a pillow and was curled up in a ball. Ron's broken leg rested on the coffee table. They were both in their pajamas and neither of them was talking.  
  
'It's all my fault if his leg is broken,' Hermione thought miserably. She turned to face Ron to apologize once again, but he seemed to read her mind, and cut her off.  
  
'It's not your fault if you had a fever and passed out,' he said impatiently.  
  
Hermione felt her stomach tie itself in a knot.  
  
'But if I hadn't been so stupid and ignored my headache –'  
  
'Drop it.'  
  
Hermione's eyes were wet. She hated it when Ron was mad at her.  
  
'Don't be mad at me,' she said in a tiny voice.  
  
Ron gave a very loud sigh.  
  
'I'm not mad at you,' he snapped.  
  
'Like you said, it's not my fault if I had a fever and passed out,' Hermione tried.  
  
'You're finally realizing that?' Ron said exasperatedly, though, to Hermione's relief, she could tell that he was trying not to laugh.  
  
'What?' she demanded.  
  
'Huh?' Ron asked. 'Oh ... nothing, you're just so bloody stubborn,' he shrugged.  
  
'Watch your language! And I am not – well – I am not stubborn,' Hermione said.  
  
'Oh, really. You're not stubborn at all,' Ron started, a malicious grin spreading over his freckled face. It was all Hermione could do to keep herself from melting.  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
'Not stubborn at all,' Ron repeated. 'Not one bit. Oh, Ron, it's all my fault if you broke your leg!' he said in a high pitched voice, his face contorted into some kind of grimace that Hermione imagined must have been his way of looking like a girl. 'Oh, Ron, if I hadn't been so stupid –'  
  
Hermione had weakly swatted at him with her hand, and he had broken into laughter.  
  
'Oh stop it, I do not sound like that,' she said, picking her head off her pillow.  
  
'That's what you think,' Ron said in a very low, malicious voice, giving Hermione shivers. He seemed to notice her shivering and stopped laughing. 'Still got that fever?' he asked, his eyebrows rose.  
  
'Unfortunately,' she breathed, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees.  
  
'I'm still surprised you don't have a big gash on your head,' Ron said thoughtfully. 'You were scraping along pretty roughly.'  
  
Hermione just shrugged her shoulders. Her teeth were chattering.  
  
'I – can't – get – up,' she said, trying and failing to pick herself up.  
  
'Neither can I,' Ron said, pointing at his leg. 'If we could just get ourselves some Healers, we'd be out here in no time,' he muttered, rolling his eyes. 'Stupid doctors.'  
  
Hermione continued to shiver. Ron eyed her concernedly.  
  
'You're really that cold?' he asked densely.  
  
'No kidding,' she answered. She didn't care how dry she was being. She was completely frozen, her head was aching, and she couldn't even move.  
  
'Wow ...' Ron said. 'Wish I could help ...' he continued, now staring at her with unhidden concern.  
  
Suddenly, it seemed, Ron had an idea. To Hermione's surprise, he started peeling off his big maroon sweater, undoubtedly knitted by his mother. Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she looked down at her hands, waiting for the inevitable.  
  
'There,' Ron said matter-of-factly. 'You can wear this.'  
  
Hermione slowly faced him and, to her relief, found that he was still wearing a short-sleeved shirt. She mustered up all of her energy to reach for the sweater, but fell face-flat on the couch, landing not two inches away from him. She was about to start apologizing profusely for having her face in such an indecent place when she reminded herself that they were just friends and that, now that her fall was over, she should bottle all of her feelings back in and get on with her life.  
  
Hermione tried to pull herself back up, but failed. A moment later, she felt two hands lifting her up to a sitting position.  
  
'You look a fright,' Ron said, eyeing Hermione's pale face.  
  
Without so much as a second-thought, it seemed, Ron had pulled Hermione against his side and put a pillow on his lap. Mortified at the thoughts of being so close to him, but also extremely thankful not to have to try to crawl back over to her side of the couch, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned onto the cushion.  
  
'Thank you,' she whispered.  
  
The two were quiet for a long while.  
  
'Hermione?' Ron said quietly.  
  
Hermione barely heard him and, weak as she was, decided that whatever he wanted to say could wait until later. She could hardly talk anyway. She waited for sleep to come, her ribs expanding as she breathed in, just waiting.  
  
Ron didn't say anything else. In fact, Hermione had forgotten where she was and was just about to fall asleep when the touch of Ron's hand on her arm, though felt through a heavy sweater and a pajama top, sent a jolt through her body. She froze as Ron started to stroke her upper arm gently, almost as though he didn't realize what he was doing. This continued for a good five minutes and, as Ron continued, Hermione felt herself relax, and waited for sleep once more.  
  
'Sleep tight,' came Ron's voice, quiet but clear.  
  
He stopped stroking Hermione's arm, but left his hand on her a few moments, before he moved it and began to play with her hair. He did all of this incredibly gently, and Hermione knew that, had she been asleep, she wouldn't have felt a thing. She felt extremely thankful that sleep had lingered before finding her.  
  
'I hate seeing you like this,' Ron said, almost under his breath. Hermione hardly heard him. 'I just ... wish I could ...'  
  
Hermione felt Ron's slightly parted lips on her forehead. They stayed there a moment. Ron's breath was warm on Hermione's face. His hands continued to play with her hair. She thought she might die of happiness, right there and then. Unfortunately, Ron slowly lifted himself back up. He took his hand out of her hair and placed it on her shoulder.  
  
That was it. He didn't kiss her again. He didn't rub her arm. He sat perfectly still. Hermione sadly let herself drift back into sleep. She was already dreaming peacefully when Ron shifted slightly so as to rest his head on the couch's armrest and to wrap his arms around her body. She didn't hear his last whispers to her.  
  
'I love you so much, Hermione.' 


End file.
